“I don’t believe that.”
“Of course you don’t. Everyone thinks she was some kind of saint because her man went off to war and died. Well, let me tell you, if she is a saint it’s because she played the martyr to perfection.”
“I heard the things you said to her after Grandma’s funeral. Ugly, hateful things.”
Quiet rang in her ears. She held her breath, waiting for her mother’s response, anticipating a litany of excuses.
“Everything I said was the truth,” Elizabeth said at last. “She was happy to have the farm to herself. She didn’t have to share it with me. Corrine was glad Abram Hatchett was conveniently killed so she could play the grieving lover rather than having to face up to being the wife.”
“How can you—”
“You don’t know. All you know is what she wanted everyone to see. She strung that poor boy along for years, casting him off and reeling him in whenever she needed a little attention.”
Elizabeth’s normally strident voice grew weak and strained. Lynne felt the usual twinge of guilt but clamped down on it. She opened her mouth to speak, but her mother cut her off.
“He wanted to marry her before he left, but she wouldn’t have him as he was. She wanted a bona fide hero. So Abram Hatchett went off to war, and on the night his mama found out he was killed, Corrine Burdock had sneaked out of the house and run off to a VFW dance in Russellville. She came home wearing another man’s corsage.”
Lynne gasped, pressing her trembling fingers to her mouth. “No.”
“I’m the one who unpinned it from her dress and threw it out the window.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Of course you can’t. No one would ever think Corrine would be so heartless. I was supposed to be the heartless one. Because I wanted a different life.”
Tears brimmed Lynne’s eyes. One slipped down her cheek, landing with a splat on the placemat in front of her.
“Sweetheart, I know it’s a romantic notion—your maiden aunt pining for her beloved, waiting to be reunited with him in the afterlife—but she chose to be alone. It suited her purposes. And look at all she missed.” Her voice gentled. “Look at all you missed, hanging around waiting for Richard to be the man he never could be. Even after he left you, you couldn’t even work up the gumption to fight back.”
“I knew he wasn’t worth fighting for.”
“I’m glad you realized he wasn’t in the end. I knew he wasn’t. Your father knew too. Hell, even Richard knew you wouldn’t fight.”
She gnawed her lip and shoved the paperback across the table. It toppled to the floor. “What was I supposed to do?”
“The only thing you’ve ever had to do was live the life you want to lead,” her mother answered. “Haven’t you learned that yet?”
Her mother’s chastising tone made her cheeks burn. She drew a deep breath. “I’m staying here.”
“Are you, now?” The smile in her mother’s voice made her eyes widen. “And Abram Hatchett? Is he going to be a part of this new life?”
“I hope so.”
“No, darling. If he’s the one you want, you have to make it so or let him go.” She laughed softly. “Your poor father didn’t stand a chance. The first time I saw him, I knew he was the man for me. I simply gave him no other option but to marry me.”
The breath she expelled lifted her hair from her cheek. “I’m not like you.”
“No. But you’re not as much like that stubborn sister of mine as I thought. This is your chance. You’re a bright, beautiful woman, Lynne. I know you never wanted to be like me, but if there’s anything you should learn from your Aunt Corrine, it’s to take what you want. Don’t toy with life. You can’t wait on the promise of forever. Forever might not happen.”
Lynne stared at the rooster printed on the placemat in front of her. “You’re wrong. I did want to be like you. I just didn’t know how.”
“Lord knows I tried to show you.”
“You did. You did.” She traced the outline of the rooster’s plumed tail with her fingernail. “Bram wants the farm.”
Elizabeth’s laugh was soft but tinged with bitterness. “I’m not surprised. The Hatchetts always seemed to have a finger in every pie.” As usual, her mother took the opportunity to bludgeon the proverbial nail with a sledgehammer. “You’re not sure if he wants you, too.”
The words tumbled from her mouth before she could give them a second thought. “He does.”
This time, the tinkling laugh echoing through the phone rang true. “Well, then, there you go, sweetheart. Make it a package deal.”
“I told him he could either have me or the farm, but not both.”
“That’s my girl,” Elizabeth whispered. “Maybe you are a little more like your mama than we both thought.”
A laugh bubbled up inside her. “You think?”
“Make him work for it. If he’s any sort of man, he will. Don’t take the scraps he offers, Lynne. Make him be the man you want him to be. Make him fight for you a little.” She sighed. “Now, I’m not saying you should send him off to war, but a skirmish here and there never hurt anyone. Men like a good fight—it makes them feel like they earned something.”
“Is that what you did with Daddy?”
“Every damn day,” her mother asserted. “I kept him on his toes.”
“You sure did,” she murmured. She scraped her thumbnail along the edge of the placemat. “What if I make a fool of myself again?”
Elizabeth’s melodic laugh sang across the miles. “Sugar, if that happens, you can always try Scottsdale.”
A bark of a laugh punctuated her feelings on the matter. “We’d kill each other.”
Elizabeth’s tone softened. “Maybe so. But if that man is too stupid to see how perfect you are, then you tell your mama. I’ll help you pour the sugar in his gas tank.”
She blinked back a hot flood of tears. “Thanks, Mama.”
“My pleasure, darling. Sleep on it. Things will seem brighter in the morning.”
****
Bram leaned against the dryer, his arms crossed over his dusty shirt. Heat from the metal housing seeped through the rough denim of his jeans. The buzzer screeched, and he jumped. He yanked open the door, and hot, moist air tumbled out, bathing him in the scent of Mountain Fresh dryer sheet.
If it were really mountain fresh, it would smell like rotten leaves, burnt-out campfire, and deer musk. He snorted at his own joke and pulled a tangle of denim and cotton from the drum, piling it all on top of the machine. His fingers strayed to a white cotton shirt dotted with pink flowers. He rubbed the smooth fabric between his thumb and forefinger as if committing the weave to memory.
Stop that. She’s here. She didn’t go. Not without her fancy jeans.
A quick flick of his wrists shook the worst of the wrinkles from the shirt. He fastened the buttons then spread it over the lid of the washer, smoothing the rest of the creases with his palm. He managed a few awkward folds and set it aside. A pair of tangled designer jeans came next. A smile touched his lips when he straightened the long inseams.
Gotta be four feet long. I should have measured. Twice. You should always measure twice.
He closed his eyes, mentally measuring Lynne’s long legs based on the way they’d wrapped around him. The jeans slipped from his hands, landing atop his dusty boots. “Crap.”
He snatched them up, brushing the sawdust and wood shavings from the pristine denim, determined to keep his wayward mind on task until the job was complete. When he was finished, he carried the neat stack of laundry to the living room and left it piled on the couch.
She wants them, she’ll have to come and get them.
He wandered into the kitchen, peered into his neglected refrigerator, and rejected its contents in one sweeping glance. Restless, he ran a glass of water and downed it in three long gulps. The lights in the workshop blazed, calling him back to work. He gave in to their siren song, making it halfway across the yard before a flash of headlight
s swept through the trees surrounding the house. He held his breath and sent up a silent prayer. It wasn’t answered. Instead of Lynne’s sleek SUV, a dark sedan rolled to a stop behind his truck. He scowled as Percy Jenkins unfolded his lanky frame from the driver’s seat.
He acknowledged the man with a nod, cautiously crossing the distance to the car. “Percy. What brings you by?”
“Ms. Prescott called and told me she decided to stay after all.”
“That’s how it’s looking at the moment.”
Percy opened the rear door and pulled a cardboard box from the seat. “I just came from havin’ supper with Miss Anna.”
“Good for you.”
“We had a very pleasant evening.” He offered the box to Bram. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here or at Ms. Prescott’s, but I thought it best to try here first.”
“What’s that?”
“Something you were lookin’ for, I think.”
Curious, he peered over the edge of the box. A frown tugged at his eyebrows when he spotted two yellow chicks staring up at him. “Chickens?”
“Miss Anna said she got them from a client.” Percy rocked back on his heels, clutching it to his chest, fixing him with a level stare. “I think we both know Miss Anna isn’t the type to trade beauty services for livestock.”
“You mean—”
“I didn’t ask too many questions. Anna seemed right grateful for that.”
“I bet she was,” he muttered. A piteous chirp made his jaw clench. “I knew she was up to something.”
“My key ring came up missing a few days ago. Mizz Albertson just happened to find it in the azaleas in front of my office.”
“Uh-huh.”
Shifting the box, Percy gave his jaw a thoughtful scratch. “Here’s the thing. With you and Ms. Prescott…involved, Anna seems a bit more, uh, receptive than she might otherwise be.”
“So this is—”
“You can call it a bribe, if you want,” Percy said with a shrug. “I prefer to think of it as a mutual understanding.”
Bram’s smile was slow to unfold. “You old dog.”
“Takes one to know one,” Percy shot back.
With a brisk nod, he spun toward his house. “Hang on to those two for a second. I’ll be right back.”
He dashed into the house and headed straight for the master bath. There, he dropped to his knees and rummaged through the tiny wastebasket. He jogged down the steps a minute later and found his guest leaning against the hood of his car, chatting up the chicks in the box.
He extended his closed fist. “Here. Trade you.”
Percy shot him a speculative glance and opened one hand. When the golden earring fell into his palm, his gaze jumped to meet Bram’s. “Where’d you get this?”
“Let’s just say there was some evidence left at the scene of the crime.” He nodded to the earring and reached for the box. “You know losing that is killing her. Be the hero. Just keep her happy and far away from me and Lynne.”
Percy’s long fingers closed around the earring. “Deal.” He straightened and made his way back to the driver’s side of the car. “What are you gonna tell Ms. Prescott about them?” he asked, nodding to the box.
Bram rolled his eyes. “Nothing. The lady’s not cut out for raisin’ chickens.”
“You aren’t gonna give them back to her?”
Shaking his head, he smiled. “Got something better.” He peered down at the fluffy chicks and sighed. “Oh. And Percy? I won’t be making an offer on the farm.”
“I figured you wouldn’t.” He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe she won’t sell after all.”
“Maybe.”
Percy waved a hand toward the box. “I wouldn’t mind taking them off your hands.”
“You want them?”
He nodded. “If you don’t.”
“Why would I need more chickens?” Bram slid the box across the roof of the car. “Their names are Thelma and Louise. Are you sure you can handle them? They’re a couple of wild women.”
“You handle yours, and I’ll handle mine.”
He couldn’t hold back his snort. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”
Percy chuckled. “I think we’re both gonna need it. Night, Bram.”
“Night, Percy,” he answered, watching as the other man folded himself back into the car. “Thanks for stopping by.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
He was up well before the chickens. In truth, he hadn’t been to bed. Bram whittled and carved the night through, chiseling away shavings of raw wood and chipping away at what was left of his stubborn pride each second that ticked past. The moment the sky started to lighten, he shuffled to the house to start the coffee pot.
I’m too old for pride. Too old to wait. Too old to stay up all night.
He pushed his hand through his hair then raked his palm over his face, pulling on his cheeks. The first cup of coffee scorched his throat. He took the second without benefit of cream or sugar. Bracing his hands on the counter, he waited for the caffeine to hit his system.
The sky turned from indigo to baby blue. He filled a thermos with the remainder of the steaming brew, pulled his keys from his pocket, and reached for the wooden headrest he’d left on the kitchen table. On his way to the door, he stopped in the foyer and snagged the small cage he’d parked there hours before.
Ten minutes later, he climbed the steps to her door. He tested the knob, grunting his frustration when he found the house locked. Curling his fingers into his palm, he pounded the door with the side of his fist.
“Lynne!” He punctuated his bellow with another round of insistent knocks, smirking when the glass rattled in the door. “Lynne, open the door.”
A muffled curse followed by a loud thump made his smirk fade into a satisfied smile. He pressed his ear to the door, listening for the whisper of her feet against the floorboards. His fist met wood again, urging her to move faster.
“Come on, sugar, the sun’s up.”
He glanced over his shoulder, checking to be certain the horizon wouldn’t prove him a liar. The locks tumbled. The door swung open. The woman he loved glared at him from under tangled clumps of golden-brown waves.
He smiled. “Good morning.”
“Are you crazy?” she muttered. “It’s not even six.”
“Yep. Plum crazy,” he answered. “Let’s go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“I wanna take you somewhere.”
“Now?”
He allowed his gaze to travel leisurely down to the ruffled hem of her nightgown. She shifted, pressing her toes to the top of the opposite foot and rubbing for warmth. “You might need a jacket, darlin’,” he murmured, pushing past her into the house.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’ve done my thinking. I’m ready to talk. Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I get some coffee.”
“I have coffee.”
He turned in a circle, stopping when he spotted a knitted throw draped over the arm of the couch. A quick snap of his wrists shook the folds from the blanket.
“This’ll do.” He wrapped the fuzzy wool snug around her shoulders, took her hand in his, and started for the door.
“Bram, wait. What are you doing?”
He stopped, turning to look at her. His hand tightened around hers, unwilling to give her the opportunity to bolt. “I’m taking you on a date.”
“A date? Now?”
“Right now.”
She pushed her tousled hair from her face, fixing him with a fierce scowl. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No, ma’am. I’m fine.”
“I’m in my nightgown.”
He brushed a snarled curl from her cheek, tucking the wayward strands behind her ear. “You look perfect to me.”
Lynne held his gaze. “I don’t have any shoes on.”
“I’ll carry you.”
“Or you can let go of me long enough for me to find my clogs.”
“I’d rather carry you, but okay,” he said, reluctantly releasing her hand.
Lynne smiled and shook her head. She gathered her hair in one hand and glanced around. “I have no idea where they are.”
“Good. No shoes means you can’t run.”
Before she could get her bearings, he bent his knees, dipped one shoulder to catch her hips and wrapped his arms around her legs. One hand slipped under her gown. He cupped the supple muscle of her thigh as he straightened and turned on his heel, heading for the door.
“Put me down.”
“I will,” he promised. Snagging the doorknob, he pulled the door closed behind them.
Lynne pummeled his butt with her palms. “What are you, some kind of caveman?”
“I’m a man who hasn’t slept a wink,” he said, covering her head with his hands as he deposited her on the bench seat of his truck.
She flailed about and finally extracted the wooden headrest from under her bottom. He tucked her feet into the cab and slammed the door.
Climbing behind the wheel, he shot her a worried glance. “Sorry about that.”
She ran her fingertips over the stylized rooster carved into the wood. “What’s this?”
The truck roared to life. He dropped it into gear and cranked the wheel. Her fingers tightened around the raw wood. She reached for the handle above the door and hung on as he wheeled through the yard toward the back of the house.
“I canceled your order,” he said, pressing the accelerator and shooting past the empty chicken coop.
“Order?” He turned onto a narrow lane between plowed fields, and her head swiveled from side to side. “Where are we going?”
He reached between his legs and pulled the thermos from under the front seat. “Here.”
She abandoned her hold on the handle above the door and lunged for the thermos. Steaming coffee sloshed as she unscrewed the cap. “What order?”
“You want a chair; I’ll make you a chair. But you’re not paying for it, and I’m not putting a P on there,” he grumbled.
“I didn’t order a chair.”
“The order was in the stack, but the name didn’t connect before.”
His teeth clacked together when they hit a bump on the grassy lane. Lynne yelped as the hot brew splattered her hand. Glossy brown drops stained the pale wood. “Can you slow down? I’m about a quart low on caffeine and not exactly sure what’s going on here.”
Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set Page 50
